


Saturday Morning

by halotolerant



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Morning Sex, Mornings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-06
Updated: 2012-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-30 16:34:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halotolerant/pseuds/halotolerant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Porn Battle XIII prompt: Lewis/Hathaway 'morning'. Fluff and also scrambled eggs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saturday Morning

\- - -

Morning, buttery-sunny outside the window, distant happy yells from children in a garden down the street, a lawn-mower grind, cars passing slowly, unrushed, Saturday.

James has stumbled up and opened the curtains just a little, and there’s soft light on them now – there’s only fields behind the house, could throw the windows wide and no one would be the wiser, but there’s a sweetness in privacy, in layers of cloth around them, in creamy-warm, tender-shelled togetherness. 

The heat is trapped between them, here under the sheets, and Robbie can feel a slight slick of sweat on James’ back as he traces the s-curve of his spine, finger in the groove, down and up, slow and steady, as they lie face to face, mouth to mouth, lips to lips, tongue to tongue, and all the way down the same, pressing, hard and soft and urgent. 

James gasps, young, eager, ready again already, and Robbie smiles into their kiss and drifts his hand lower and pulls him close, James’ desire sparking a pleasant echo in himself, though he’ll need to wait a while yet. 

There’s time, vast, rippling time, all theirs, Saturday, and they did the shopping last night and who needs a paper anyway. They might eat in a while, eggs probably, James can’t scramble worth a damn, and Robbie will show him again and they’ll eat across the table from each other, smiling, and maybe it’s his age, but Robbie loves that as much as he loves this. 

This, here, James moving against him now, not trying to stop from whimpering – they both like it, they both like it so much when he makes that painful, haunting, hurting, desperate sound, a dark beautiful streak Robbie never knew in himself and that James seemed afraid of, at first. 

Robbie tells him that he’s beautiful, that he’s perfect, lovely, wonderful; they’re not hard words to him, never have been, and James soaks them in like sunshine and _blossoms_ , and flourishes under his hands, and Robbie watches open-mouthed and awed and addicted. 

He pushes James gently onto his back, lies him out long, straight and pale, runs a hand down him, palms the heat of him, presses. Bites the cry he gets in response and feels it now, stirring, his own need alongside the ever-present desire simply to give pleasure. 

“What do you do to me?” James asks, whispering, breaking his voice on the words; speaking is so hard for James, so very hard, and these questions are what he offers, and Robbie takes his hand, interlocks their fingers, understands. 

A grateful, tender smile, and then James pulls him in, demands a kiss, and Robbie meets him, breathes him, before moving down, delighting in a hiss of anticipation from the lips he’s made swollen. 

That he could do this, Robbie never imagined. It was a joke, a nasty one. And it seemed... unpleasant, at best to think of. He never asked Val and she never offered. 

Now James groans, shudders, swells in his mouth, and Robbie feels himself harden. The taste is bitter, musk, earth, hot; he doesn’t like it as such but it _has_ him, it has him hooked, it spears through him and makes him fluid with longing. 

James’ fingers, tight in his, tight, painful, bone-white grip, and Robbie licks and there’s a groan, all jagged-edge broken, and James’ other hand flying over his eyes and his legs opening just a little wider, welcoming, and the grip is tighter now and Robbie _wants_ , and he has, that is the truth of it, he has him, has everything.

James is panting, trying to sit up a little, reaching out, telling him to wait. 

Robbie draws back a little, runs his fingers over the path of his tongue, chuckles as James closes his eyes. 

“Wait till you can... be back inside me,” James instructs, with a flush that begins in the hollow of his neck and travels, down across the geography of chest and stomach, up across his beautiful face.

He’s looking at Robbie like he’s the one overwhelmed by what he’s seeing. 

Robbie kneels up, leans in, sucks at the neck hollow till James is whimpering once more, then kisses him again, taste on his tongue, not worrying, not now, not anymore, about how when he lies down the differences in their bodies, in the hardness and the softness, in the firmness and the lines, are all too obvious. 

They have each other, exactly each other, for each other is what they want and need. They have. They have and hold. 

Robbie nods and smiles because there is time, it is still only morning, still only the beginning of a day that promises to be glorious.

He pulls the sheets all snug around them, and falls once more to kissing.

\- - -


End file.
